


Mercy

by iqom



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Asriel - Freeform, Flowey - Freeform, Flowey struggles with emotion, Frisk - Freeform, Omega Flowey - Freeform, merciful Frisk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-02-27 16:11:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13251828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iqom/pseuds/iqom
Summary: In this world, it's KILL or BE KILLED. At least, it will be if one doesn't understand the concept of mercy.





	Mercy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pugblogging](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=pugblogging).



> Happy holidays, pugblogging! :D I hope you enjoy this piece.

_*After all, I only have six souls._

_*I still need one more…_

Flowey was seeing red.

_*Before I become GOD._

He lacked only red. The six other souls, fused crudely and unnaturally to form a semblance of a heart filled with rage…

_*You really are an idiot._

…

Even as Omega Flowey descended from the ceiling looking like the devil incarnate, Frisk never showed any sort of reaction, or even recognition, to what they were witnessing. Their eyes stayed lidded, their mouth a heavy flat line. Always.

Flowey has been through this thousands, if not millions, of times. He breaks their save file and then seeks to destroy Frisk; over, and over, and over again. Frisk stays silent as always, narrowly escaping their death as best as possible, some rounds proving more lucky for them than others.

Regarding Frisk now filled Flowey with fresh loathing. His sea of raw emotion was at high tide, amalgamating into a deafening choir that called for Frisk’s quick death. It happened like this _every time._ And then, they’d play again.

Frisk opened their mouth and the first word they have ever spoken emerged from their lips. They had never uttered a single word before now.

It was simply, “Asriel.”

Flowey’s television screen flickered in astonishment.

The human was unafraid, their squat form directly in firing range of Flowey’s massive flamethrowers like a mouse pleasantly resting in the maw of a lion.

The concept of emotion was still foreign to Flowey, despite having acquired it so many times in other gameplay. It floated up within him like spores; quiet mites of… was that confusion, perhaps? Usually, the emotions made available to him by the souls were overwhelming and catastrophic-- a hurricane of sensation-- but now he felt almost like he could have categorized them and tucked them away in a library by shelf code if he so wished. Something in that name had piqued his interest in the strangest and most unfamiliar of ways.

Frisk always had a tendency to make the same face. They were like a blank slate; plain, unassuming, and yet _anything_ could be potentially designed on its surface. Something Flowey has never seen before. That never happened. Frisk was mind-numbingly predictable.

Frisk was smiling. Indeed, now, they were _smiling:_ the edges of their mouth were curving upwards.

Flowey could easily put names to his feelings so far, despite spending much of his existence on each timeline without the capability to feel them for himself.

“Rage”, of course. The beast. When he absorbs the souls rage consumes him fully every single time. The other emotions the souls are capable of offering him are never explored; no need, when one has rage. He barely needed to fake it when he was without a soul. It stayed fresh in his memory. Hatred so suddenly and so violently available to Omega Flowey left an impression on his psyche that could transcend even timelines.

“Confusion”... he was familiar, somewhat. He knew how to feign confusion very well. Being “confused” as Toriel arrives, sweeping Frisk away to their relative safety.

He could stretch his face out wide, scrunch it in until his features were barely visible, imitate anyone and _his idea of_ any emotion. Acting out the semblance of things he felt long ago, back when he was…

Their voice rang out like a tiny bell in the dark chamber as they invoked Flowey’s old name once again.

“Asriel.”

“Who are you?” Flowey growled. His thorny hands formed fists, the claws digging into his palms and releasing a trickle of aloe. He was frustrated. Now _that_ was a fascinating emotion; it felt like the bastardized heart inside of him was being twisted by a great hand. He had a desire for a sudden change, to sweep away the fist wringing his soul out to dry and return to anger’s comfortable certainty.

“I am Frisk,” said Frisk, “but I’m playing a different way this time.”

His frustration was building. _What kind of stupid trick are they trying to play on me?_

Desperate to return to what he knew, he fired his flamethrower suddenly, hoping to torch the child out of their grossly unfamiliar demeanor. Frisk retreated to the corner of the room, narrowly avoiding the fire leaping out to meet them.

“Asriel, you know how it goes. You kill me, we play again. You don’t become a god.”

Flowey was stunned. Shocked, perhaps? He clacked his perpendicular teeth together, the sound echoing throughout the room.

Frisk always possessed an otherworldly perspective on how the world worked down there, in the Underground; but this seemed beyond even Frisk’s power. To know exactly when and where a _timeline ended_ … Omega Flowey thought only he had that knowledge. Or did he have it, after all? He certainly didn’t know how this interaction was going to resolve itself.

Not shocked. Afraid.

Another part of the soul stirred within him. His screen was flickering nervously between blue and black glow, unable to conjure any projection of a face or object as it usually did. Fear, Flowey decided, was a _horrible_ feeling; his monstrous size that made him so powerful now made him feel too exposed. He wanted to slink away, to retreat into the dark recesses of the Underground, away from this new Frisk that seemed to have an unfathomable understanding of… of _everything_.

Flowey descended completely to the floor, pulling his massive arms underneath him. The vines wrapped around him strained tightly until they snapped at once, relinquishing his Omega body. He was coming to a swift and sickening realization; absorbing the souls didn’t make him more powerful. They made him more _vulnerable._ He was at the beck and call of these… these _emotions_ , that he had never taken the time to experiment with while they were fresh. They had always just been a reminder of his childhood, from when he had the capacity to feel. Now, he was up to his neck in them; unlike with rage’s tidal wave, he couldn’t stay afloat this time around. He was drowning.

“You need one more soul,” Frisk squeaked. They had stepped out from the corner and was now dimly illuminated, almost fluorescent, in Flowey’s blue glow. “This time, I’m going to offer it to you.”

Confusion. _"What?"_

Frisk reached into the pocket of their shorts and pulled out their beating heart, holding it out in the palm of their hand.

“Take it,” they said, smiling again, “It’s yours now.”

Flowey couldn’t deny that such an outrageous offer was impossible for him to decline. Frisk was offering him their soul without a fight, without _anything_. With it, he would become God… yes? Right?

He absorbed the soul quickly and greedily, like he had been starving for it. As it passed through his screen, the child collapsed to their knees, clutching their stomach.

Fear. “Why are you giving this to me?” Flowey whispered, his voice no louder than a few decibels, “You’re dying, you know…”

“I know,” Frisk gasped, their Determination quickly running out, “Listen to me… Asriel… it’s only… ‘kill or be killed’... if you don’t understand… how to _forgive…_ ”

Frustration. “What do you mean?”

“I am… sparing you _,_ Flowey. Now… go, Asriel… spare the rest…”

The soul fused entirely with the others and Frisk vanished with a shuddering gasp.

All was quiet. The new emotion rose to the surface like oil in water.

It was soft and filling, like his mother’s butterscotch pie. It reminded him of companionship, of expansive daydreams; the excitement of a new day and the crisp, clear breeze of a leisurely evening. Showing compassion paid back in compassion, in appreciation, in unconditional love…

Mercy. Flowey understood it.


End file.
